


Mark You Mine

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Biting, Bruises, Community: kink_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-09
Updated: 2009-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plot, what is this thing you call plot? Sylar marks his property.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mark You Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Violence, D/s, mirrors, cum play, dirty talk, teasing. Contains a nod towards volume 4, but it doesn't really qualify as a spoiler.

He tracks her to her motel room. It isn't difficult. She's not there when he arrives, so he searches the place briskly, then waits beside the door for her to return.

The décor is gloriously ugly, he thinks as he waits, with floral wallpaper, threadbare brown carpet and a gold-veined mirror covering half the wall opposite the lonely bed. He looks forward to trashing the place.

She hobbles awkwardly into the room, with a laundry bag over her shoulder and her arms full of take-out. He slams the door shut without lifting a finger as soon as she clears the threshold. He wouldn't swear to it, but he thinks he hears her gasp "finally" before she drops her burdens and spins around, hands and eyes crackling blue with rage. He grins as he lifts her with a gesture and throws her against the far wall.

"It's nice to see you again, Elle."

"Sylar," blood flecks her chin when she spits his name; she must have bit her tongue when she hit. Then she smiles, raises her chin defiantly. "You coward."

His eyes narrow. "Excuse me?"

"Using your powers. Tossing me around like this. It's cheating." He chuckles. She licks her lips. "I know how long you've been dying to get your hands on me. Now's your chance. Take it."

He walks slowly toward her, measuring each footstep with exaggerated care. He keeps her pinned until he's within arm's reach, then lets her drop. She tries to dodge him, lunging for the gun he knows she's stashed under the pillow, but he catches her, pinning her arms to her sides and using his full body weight to slam her against the dresser below the mirror. He grabs a fistful of her hair and wrenches her head up, forcing her to meet his eyes glaring over her shoulder.

"Happy?" he asks.

She pants, snarling face gradually opening into a hungry grin. "Close enough."

He ducks his head, pressing his cheek to her temple and murmuring into her skin, "Last time, before we split up, do you remember what you promised me?"

She nods, wincing when he tightens his grip on her hair. "I said I was yours."

"Is that still true?"

"More than ever."

"You're fighting me because you want me to fight you back." It's not quite a question, but it still demands an answer.

"Sounds about right." She swallows. "How about you? What do you want to do now that you've found me?"

He smiles carnivorously, a flash of white teeth. "What do I want . . . right now I mostly want to mark you as my property. Like writing my name inside a book. What do you think of that, Elle? Would you like me to mark you?"

She frowns. "You don't mean like . . . dogs-and-trees marking, right?"

He laughs into her hair. Actually, piss play is on the list of things he wants to do to, with or for her—it's a very comprehensive list—but there are a lot of other entries closer to the top.

"Not what I had in mind. No, I mean using my hands and my mouth to inscribe my ownership in your flesh. I want to pleasure you," he releases his grip on her scalp, letting her lean her head back on his shoulder, and slides his hand down her body. He pauses to caress one peaked breast, then pushes his fingers beneath the waistband of her shorts, watches her face in the mirror as her lips part and her eyelids flicker rapidly. He cannot restrain his own gasp as he presses his fingers against her mound and feels moisture soak the cotton of her panties, nor again when he digs the fingers of his other hand into her arm and she moans and arches her body against him. "Mm, and hurt you, so that anyone who dares look closely enough can see that you belong to me."

"And when the bruises fade?" She meets his eyes again in the mirror and he grins.

"Then I'll have to leave new ones." He nuzzles his face into her neck, kissing her gently. "What do you say, Sparky? You ready to play?"

She nods, smiling. He bites down hard.

She curses and squirms but he tightens his grip on her upper body and starts rubbing her clit through her underwear. He bites and sucks his way down her neck and over her shoulder. Elle keeps gasping and grunting, but it quickly stops being a complaint.

She's too short for him to reach much more like this, so he switches arms, grabbing the scruff of her neck and forcing her to bend down over the dresser while he sinks to his knees behind her. He pulls her pants down, taps her calves to make her lift her feet so he can toss them away, along with her shoes. He rises a little, pushes her shirt up and unhooks her bra, and bites into the muscle wrapping her shoulder blade.

She twitches, and he soothes her with kisses, rasps his stubble over her skin while his fingers trace helical designs up and down the insides of her thighs. She tries to push back into his hand, but he presses her harder into the wood laminate and keeps teasing, meanwhile leaving a meandering trail of nips and slurps down her back. Shifts his weight to ease the uncomfortable friction of his jeans. He skims his palm over her ass and traces a thumbnail up her hip, ribs, the side of her breast, and down again, before returning to the radiating heat between her legs. He runs two fingers over her lips, slicking them with her juice, before pushing one and then the second inside of her.

Elle purrs as he curls his fingers, twisting her head on the dresser. Sylar moans into her skin as she sucks the thumb of the hand pinning her neck into her mouth. He could punish her for that impetuousness, but it might actually discourage her from taking what she wants, and how boring that would be? Instead he loosens his grip, cradling her face with his palm, and grinds his teeth into the flesh over hipbone. She whimpers and he can feel it through every point of contact between their bodies.

He chews his way down her flank, working her with his fingers, then laughs at her disappointed whine when he lets her go, sitting back on his heels.

Elle pushes partway up from the dresser, looking down at him with a concerned frown.

"Turn around," he commands. He stands, adjusting his belt, then leans in to kiss her and brush away a strand of sweat-clinging hair. He inclines his head towards the mirror. "Take a look."

Elle twists to look over her shoulder at the reflection and gasps when she sees the red, and in some cases already purple, ellipses his teeth have left on her shoulders, back, waist and ass. "Wow," she breaths, touching one with her fingers and feeling the fading trace of the indentation.

"More?" Sylar asks, watching her reactions thirstily.

"Yes, please!" She turns back around, reaching for his jaw to pull him into a ferocious kiss.

He pulls her shirt and bra the rest of the way off while she tugs his vest out of the waistband of his jeans. She rolls his shirt up and kisses his chest, pinching a nipple between her own sharp teeth. He grunts, reaching back awkwardly to tug off his motorcycle boots, then yanks his shirt off over his head.

She drops to her knees at a quirk of his eyebrow, nimble fingers releasing his belt buckle and the zip of his jeans. He shifts his stance as she pulls his briefs and trousers down over his hips and wraps her hands around his cock. She licks her lips, looking up at him through her lashes with a teasing smile. She strokes him gently from base to head, a skimming touch almost devoid of pressure, until he's just about to say something snarky, then turns the words into a garbled grunt by taking him into her mouth.

She pulls back to swirl her tongue around his head, letting a trickle of spit run down the underside of his shaft to her still-stroking hand. Her other hand wraps around his scrotum, gently tugging his balls away from his body while she squeezes and sucks. She increases her pace when she feels the tension building in his thighs, ass and abs, but he stops her with a hand on her head. "Not yet."

Elle pulls back slowly, a strand of saliva stretching from his cock to her lower lip for a lazy moment before vanishing.

Leering, Sylar grabs her upper arms and pulls her to her feet, then throws her onto the bed, on her back, hard enough that she bounces. At least the mattress doesn't squeak; even if he does destroy it later, he'd prefer to get some use out of it first. He kicks his pants off then lunges for her. He digs his fingers into the tops of her thighs, hauling her back down towards the edge. He folds over her and kisses her fiercely. She arches up to meet him, wrapping her arms around his neck, but he forces her back down.

His mouth moves to her throat, kissing her pulse point, her collarbone. He squeezes her breasts, sinking fingers into her flesh until she moans. He shifts a little down her body, sucking at one pink nipple while he seeks out her clit with his thumb. He rubs it in circles while he bites his way down her body, leaving neat bruises around the edges of her breasts and next to her belly button.

Sylar drops to his knees on the floor, pushing her thighs apart with his hands. He laps at her slit, then replaces tongue with fingers while he bites and sucks up clusters of red marks on the inside of her thighs. Two fingers slip inside her, finding her wetter than before, and he alternates tonguing her and kneading her thighs, splaying them open again each time they start to squeeze together, with biting her legs while rolling her clit with his thumb. It takes a while but he works her up to a squirming, mewling fervor.

"You like that?" he asks, climbing back onto the bed, pressing his cock against her hip as he leans over her.

She whimpers. "Yes."

"Tell me."

"It's good. Feels so fucking good and you fucking well know it."

"Tell me what you want," he commands, breath hot and damp on her ear.

"I want you, you hairy motherfucker."

"Brat." He pulls back to watch her writhe, clenching her fists in the ugly motel coverlet. "How do you want me?"

"I want you to fuck me."

"Go on."

"I want your cock. I've missed the feel of it inside me. I want you to say my name when you come."

Without breaking rhythm he reaches to the floor for his jeans and fishes a condom from the pocket. He sits up, tearing the package with his teeth, and watches her watch him roll the condom on. He grabs her arms, flips her over onto her belly, then yanks her hips up and back, turning both of them to face the mirror before he enters her from behind.

Elle's head drops down, hair hanging over her face, but he smacks her thigh to make her look up so he can watch her in the mirror, her bruised bouncing breasts, red mouth hanging open and her nostrils flaring as she pushes back to meet his thrusts. He grabs her hip to guide her as she squeezes around his cock, blinking sweat out of her eyes. She bites her lip, eyelids fluttering over blown pupils. She moans, a crescendoing series of almost-words as her thighs start to quake and she comes apart around him.

She collapses forward onto the bed, giggling breathlessly into the duvet. Sylar slows his thrusting. He leans forward to kiss her shoulder and murmur in her ear.

"Should I sign my canvas?"

Elle twists onto her elbow, staring up at him with wide, bright eyes. "Hell yeah."

With a groan Sylar pulls out, peeling off the rubber and tossing it aside. Elle rolls over to face him and he leans over her, supporting his weight on one arm while his other hand squeezes his cock and starts to pump.

"Tell me what you want," he growls again, hoarse and shaky.

Elle wraps a hand around his supporting wrist, trails the fingers of the other over the marks on her breasts.

"I want your cum. I want it all over my belly and my tits. I want you to make such a mess of me," she licks her lips, eyes darting from his face to his hand beating faster and faster. "Come on, Sylar you crazy bastard, spill it for me!"

"Elle," he whines, spine curling as he obeys, spattering translucent fluid in a warm line diagonally across her flushed and mottled torso.

He drops his hand to the mattress, drinking a few deep breaths before laying on his back beside her with a sigh. He pats her idly on the thigh. "Good girl," he says, then barks a protest when she giggles, rolling over to smoosh her sticky breasts against his chest.

"Very nice," he scolds as she flops back down with a self-congratulatory hum.

"I thought so," she says, then pouts. "Now I'm hungry. Make that pizza come over here." She stretches an arm vaguely towards the boxes on the carpet by the door.

"First of all, I'm not your servant; you have legs and can get your own damned pizza. Second, if we don't wash this stuff off soon it's going to get crusty and gross."

Elle snorts. "First of all, I had my own pizza and you made me drop it, and second if we don't eat it soon it'll be cold."

Sylar sits up and stretches out his legs. "It's already cold. I'll warm it up once we're clean." He hovers a hand over her body, heating the air over her skin.

She smiles happily. "Mm, where'd you get that one?"

"Some kid named Campbell. Come on," he scoops her up, draping her over his shoulder and giving her a swat on the ass as he carries her, laughing and kicking, to the bathroom. "Shower time."


End file.
